Dreaming With A Broken Heart
by ohxasphyxiationx
Summary: He knew her heart was not his, but he loved her anyway. --oneshot*songfic--


**Thanks to my new iPod Shuffle, I've been listening to music about 18 hours a day, I'd wager. And, because I have such an… eccentric, wide range of music tastes, these songfics have been pulling on my brain for quite some time. I'll be writing them all down as they become clearer, but for right now, this one just held my brain at ransom until I wrote it down. =\ It just made a lot of sense to me, and the idea seemed perfect. My execution? Not so much. But I very much enjoyed writing this sappy piece of $#!+ anyway.**

**In case you don't know, the name of the song is, you guessed it! _Dreaming With a Broken Heart_ by John Mayer. It was made for them.**

…**And to avoid any confusion, this takes place six years after the end of the game. This makes Larsa eighteen, and Penelo twenty-three. He is not a minor and this is not gross or illegal. For all intents and purposes, _Revenant Wings_ does not exist because I have not played it and I'm not going to ruin it by looking it up just for a stupid oneshot. Okie dokes. Moving on.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy XII or its characters, nor do I own the song _Dreaming with a broken Heart._ These all belong to their rightful owners. This was written solely for enjoyment and I make no profit from this. There.**

**So, here we go.**

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part._

The exquisite silk sheets were a shade of gold so pure that they shined in the sunlight that poured the expensive drapery. The pillow, made of the finest chocobo down in all of the country was soft enough to rival that of the clouds. The large bed, crafted from the finest mahogany, was adorned with beautiful hand carvings full of artistry and craftsmanship. And the mattress, made of all the finest materials and newest technology to help aid one into a peaceful, restful sleep cost more gil than most people would ever see in their lifetime. It should have been more than enough for its occupant to get much more than just a decent nights sleep.

But for Larsa Solidor, wise and caring Emperor of Archadia, this fine bed was nothing more than a prison. As of late, he found himself restless. Sleep didn't come easily without the help of some tea made of special herbs that only Annette, the middle-aged servant that had taken care of Larsa since he was a small child, could make. His bed, while perhaps one of the most comfortable in the entire world, wasn't of much comfort if it was cold and empty.

_You roll out of bed, and down on your knees, and for a moment you can hardly breathe._

Each morning was the same. He lay in bed, restless and staring around the room, at the empty space next to him that should be filled by _someone_, until Basch, dressed in that blasted clanking armor came in to wake him and disrupted him from his melancholy thoughts.

"Morning comes, my Lord," were the words Basch would say each and every morning, before excusing himself and standing guard at the bedroom door while Larsa bathed and dressed before beginning another day full of responsibility and duty.

Larsa sometimes wondered where he found his strength. It was always hard, and was becoming increasingly harder, to wake up each morning and bear the troubles of the people directly on his shoulders. Ruling one of the most powerful, and somewhat despised Empire in all of Ivalice was not an easy task. It was a twenty-four hour job, seven days a week. There was no time for much else. He could not stay in bed for a few more moments rest. He could not sleep in just because he was tired. He could not be idle even when he was ill. And he most certainly could not hide out in his bedroom because he was broken-hearted and alone. He wished he could.

He was sure he would never complain again if she'd come back, if only just once more. It had been so long since she had been here last that sometimes, he couldn't remember if it had all been a dream.

_Wondering, was she really here?_

_Is she standing in my room?_

_No, she's not. Cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone._

He wished it was a dream, but it was in fact real, too real to deal with most of the time. He tried not to think about it because it just hurt too much. It had been almost a year ago. He knew that she would not come back.

From the moment he had set eyes on Penelo, his eyes had seen no other. She was vibrant, cheerful, and beautiful- everything his life had been without. The way he had felt for her then was silly and inexplicable, despite his maturity, and he had convinced himself that as he got older, one day it would pass.

But despite the many miles and differences that separated them after the battle for Dalmasca's freedom was finally won, Penelo had been the only one who still took time to care for him. Her letters were the closest he had to fraternizing with another Hume. In his letters to her, he could tell someone of how he truly felt, and she would always reply with words of encouragement and endearment, and in his heart, his love for her grew.

But he had known, even then, that her heart did not belong to him.

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart, the giving up is the hardest part._

The knowledge of that fact, that her heart was not his for the taking, should have been enough to steer him clear of her. But it hadn't been. She was the only one he would ever love, he knew this without a doubt, and he could not resign his love for her without trying, just once, to win her. She would grow to love him, just as he had grown to love her.

And when she had finally agreed to visit him, after five years of being apart, he was overwhelmed with so many emotions it made him dizzy and more nervous than he had ever been during public speeches and times of trouble. And when he had seen her walking down the Grand Hall of the Archadian Palace in a pretty blue dress, he was full of joy.

She bent forward in a formal curtsy, before greeting him. "It is an honor, Lord Larsa," she said with such dignity and formality.

Extending his hand, he reached for hers, bringing it to his lips and placing a tender kiss on it. "Penelo," he said, looking into her beautiful blue eyes, "There is no need for such formalities here. I am no one but your good friend Larsa."

She smiled at him, and his heart began to beat rapidly in his chest. "You've gotten really tall, Larsa." He just laughed, a quiet chuckle, before giving her his arm and leading her into the dining hall, where dinner was about to be served.

They made small talk at the table, Penelo in awe of the beautiful china and silverware being used at the table, as well as the exquisite food that she ate hungrily. Larsa just watched her, taking note of the way she held her fork, the way she laughed, and that smile that had stolen his heart years ago.

At the end of dinner, Larsa had touched hardly anything on his plate. Penelo had drank too much of the expensive wine she otherwise would never have the pleasure of enjoying. After asking one of the kitchen staff to bring tea for two to his chambers, they headed up the grand stairs to his bedchamber. When the tea arrived, Larsa's stirring and the constant clanking of his spoon against the china was the only sound that could be heard in the deafening and uncomfortable silence that had fallen over them.

She began to play with the hem of her dress, something that Larsa could interpret as a bad sign. Clearing her throat, she finally spoke.

"I came here for a reason, you know," she began, and Larsa nodded once to affirm to her that he was, in fact, paying attention as he sipped carefully at the hot tea in his cup. "I'm getting married, and I wasn't sure when I'd be able to see you again."

He was so shocked, he almost spit out his tea, but with a dignified and graceful swallow, it went down, burning hot, but he was too stunned to notice it.

"Why… W-why would you do that?" He couldn't help it as the idiotic question passed his lips, and he received a funny look from Penelo.

"Because I love Vaan," she stated matter of factly, "And I want to get married. Settle down. Have a family, maybe."

The words hurt him. They hurt more than any wounds he had ever received in battle. Those had healed, in time. He didn't think this would.

"I love you," Larsa stated, dumbly, before searching his mind for words, "I don't want you to marry him. You could marry me, instead."

She laughed, she laughed so hard that it became hard for her to breathe. Larsa filled up with so much anger and pain that he could have killed her right then and there, had she not begun to cry seconds later.

_She takes you in with her crying eyes, then all at once, you have to say goodbye._

"Penelo, don't cry," Larsa began, "Forgive me."

"I knew this was a bad idea," she scoffed, "But I had to see you at least one more time. I _missed_ you." She hung her head sadly. "I wanted to say goodbye."

Larsa didn't know what to say. So he didn't say anything. His hands cupped her chin, forcing her eyes to stare into his eyes before he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her. He sighed, his breathing labored, and searched her eyes for any hesitation, and seeing none, dove in again, this time harsher, more passionate, and he was surprised to feel her kissing him back, just as fierce, and it did not take long before their clothes were discarded all over the room.

Seeing her beautiful and bare over his sheets was almost more than he could stand, and when she gave him her invitation to have her, he did not hesitate. Her skin tasted sweeter than anything he had ever tasted, the sounds that fell for her delicate lips were more melodic than any song he had ever heard, the sensations he felt were more powerful than any he had ever experienced. But more than all of that, the love he felt in that moment was like none other he had ever given or received. It was almost too much to bear.

And when it was all over, it had been the easiest night for him to fall into slumber. He knew that what he had done was not right, and he knew that when morning came, she might very well hate him, but in that moment, things were too perfect to be ruined by thought, and so he fell into a peaceful sleep filled with dreams of love and happiness.

_Wondering, could you stay, my love?_

_Will you wake up by my side?_

But morning came too quickly, and when Larsa had finally risen, he found himself alone. The space where Penelo had been laying in his arms the night before was empty and cold. All that was left in that huge, void space was a piece of paper with the crest of Solidor embellished on it- paper from his own desk.

**Larsa,**

**I know that you understand why I had to leave.**

**While I can't forgive myself for what happened, I do forgive you.**

**I have returned to where I belong, with Vaan.**

**He is a good man, and we will be happy together.**

**And although we will never see each other again, remember that you are still my closest friend.**

**--Penelo.**

_No, she can't. Cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone._

He wanted to cry, but the tears never came. And so he got up to bathe and dress and start another day as he would normally, a hole is his heart that would never heal.

He wrote to Penelo constantly, begging her forgiveness and asking that she please reconsider. After about the tenth letter, he gave up. It had been a year since, and she had never written back. Not one letter ever came.

_Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hands?_

_And would you get them if I did?_

_No, you won't. Cause you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone._

And as much as it hurt him, he could not forget that moment. It had been his first and last time of ever loving a woman, and he would always hold it near to him. He knew that one day, a few years from now, there would be more pressure to take a wife and have his own little boy to take over the House of Solidor when his time was done.

Part of him didn't want to do it. The idea of making another small child, suffer just as he had, to live a life of duty as he, to witness death and war and hatred as much as he had was unjust. The life of a Solidor, the life of an Emperor, was a lonely one. He knew that no woman would love ever love him for who he _really_ was- plain old Larsa, the persistent and determined child who strived towards peace and freedom for all. The one who lent his hand to help those in need. They wouldn't care about that. They'd care only about their standings and their fancy clothes and living the life of royalty. The one woman who had loved him because of who he really was would never be his.

He certainly did not want to give his son that life. The idea of it made his heart break. But, it was his _duty_ to preserve the House of Solidor, to continue the legacy of his late brothers and father.

Without his duties and responsibilities, he'd have nothing left to live for. The greatest love of all his life had left, and he knew he would never love again.

_When you're dreaming with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part._

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